Akito
by too much spare time
Summary: We all know of Ozai, but what of Zuko's mother? Was she a concubine, a slave, or something different? The story from her poit of view, from his birth to his banishment. I have chapters now!
1. Birth

Three miscarriages, a stillborn, and a baby dead at two are what deserved me this boy. When I bore him unto this earth, the spirit of death was near. I could smell it in the air. It nearly stole my child, but the midwives swiped his nostrils with a river reed and he breathed his first, bellowing like an ox and chasing the malignant spirit away. Once thwarted, death does not linger.

There is much joy in the tent. Each midwife is cooing over my boy, passing him around, marveling at his toes, his fingers, his tiny ears like butterfly wings. I wait patiently, my fingers beginning to twitch, my eyes locked on the little creature that took residence inside me. He is a little thing, the size of the crook of my arm, but that does not change the fact that it felt like passing a cannonball. I believe I clipped several nurses with outbursts of roaring flame, causing them to shriek and scamper, but the memories are hazy. Sweat stung my eyes most of the delivery, blurring my vision.

His little frame fits perfectly in my arms. A shimmer of black curls itches my breast. "Zuko." I state. My voice is hoarse. "His name is Zuko."

"But Mistress, the Fire Lord is given the responsibility of naming a boy."

"I care not." I look up. The nurses cringe as though my eyes are glowing. I think they are. "His name will be Zuko. Tell Ozai."

"Yes, ma'am." A midwife bows as she exits the tent, a panel of light illuminating half my body. I can see my husband's silhouette for that split second before I am enveloped again in reddish light. The midwives have closed in, as if I am a dangerous animal, and they the cage. I look warily at each of them. I hold Zuko closer.

"What are you doing?" I ask slowly.

"We are here to take the baby." One of them says, stretching out her arms. "It needs to be with its nurses."

Perhaps it is the delirium of childbirth, but the pores of my free hand spontaneously combusts. A flame dances in my left palm. "You will not touch him." I snap. "You remember what happened to my last child who I was foolish enough to leave in your care."

"Surely you are not blaming us for the accident." says a voice. I cannot tell which. They have amalgamated into a throbbing mass, ripe with malcontent and misgivings.

"Get back." The flame grows larger. I can see alarm in its face. "Get away from my son!"

"Akito." Whispers my husband. He has appeared suddenly by my bedside. I turn my head and look at him, my eyes beginning to glaze over. He is looking at Zuko. "Give the child to the midwives."

"His name is Zuko!" I whisper dangerously. "And I will be rotten in my grave before they take him from me!"

"Akito…trust me." Ozai stretches out his arms. "If you cannot give Zuko to the nurses, give him to me."

I cannot see his features clearly, but a sense of peace instills in me somehow. Perhaps the midwives drugged me. I relax my grip on Zuko and my husband takes him from my arms. The absence of his warm weight is alarming. I whimper, but something has placed a cup to my lips. I taste poppy seeds and something sour I cannot place. The pillows are softer suddenly, the linens warmer. Before this potion wafts me to sleep, I see Ozai holding my son with the awkward determination of a man who has no idea what he is doing.


	2. Childhood

Zuko is five now, yet I still cannot let him out of my sight.

There is a difference between boys and girls. It does not matter what race, color, creed, or nation you belong to—regal or peasant, water-nation or fire-nation—every little child in the world drives you past that crucial point where your brain is still whole. For girls, it is when they open their mouths and sound comes out. They spend hours gabbing nonsense, giggling like a dolphin for days on end. Not only do their shrill voices offer salvation only with a hammer and your skull, they are so easily startled! You drop something heavy—they start to cry. You make a sudden movement—they start to scream.

Screaming, however, never got anybody killed. When little boys start to walk, a week later they start to run. I still do not know how Zuko does it. One minute, he is next to me. The next, he is halfway across the kingdom, about to walk headlong into a fireball's path! My voice has become hoarse, my shoulder stiff after screaming and pulling Zuko, sometimes whip lashing him into my arms. Not only does he resent to with such force, he bites! He hits! He blows fire into my face!

He first discovered he could manipulate fire at age three. The candle flames he made dance across the kingdom made me lock my meditative quarters. At age four, he discovered he could create fire. What joy he had in that. Every time I asked him to do something—get something from the pantry, for instance—he would negatively shriek and hurl a glowing orange bomb!

The servants that were supposed to care for Zuko, and me, now that I reflect on it, gave up long ago. Ever since the day he was born, after I awoke from my drugged haze and snatched Zuko from the cradle, no servant, nurse, or nanny would come near me. Every time they approached, steam would start to rise from my sweaty head, my eyes alight, and my free hand began to gather the destructive element from my blood.

I do not mind walking the twenty feet from my room to the kitchen. As long as I can keep an eye on Zuko at all times, I miss not the queen's treatment.

My hair, once so black and glossy, has streaks of grey. Permanent wrinkles have furrowed themselves into my brow. I alone could approach him as he squealed in glee, setting the kingdoms best orchids on fire and some of the unfortunate birds. Though he is older, I still wear leather gloves for handling him after a tantrum. Very young fire benders have not yet mastered controlling the fire within, so it blows from every pore when they are angry. It is no wonder almost everything is made of metal.

Iroh, my brother in law, visits every day. Zuko acts as if it is a landmark occasion and is instantly an angel.

"Uncie Iroh!" cries Zuko excitedly. Small children are so amused! It is that naïve ecstasy that causes yellow sparks to fly from the tips of his fingers. I recoil, waving my unfortunate hand that was holding his. He has not, as of yet, mastered control. That only makes him more frightening. Premonitions of Zuko sadistically giggling while various public buildings burn cloud my thoughts.

He runs to Iroh who had stooped down, his arms outstretched.

The first time I saw Iroh, his beauty struck me dumb. His face is hairless, something I have always admired about him. Despite the popularity of those god-awful sideburns, Iroh exhibits his bare face with pride that makes it glow. His silky black hair is most often put into a braid (another admirable quality… he is not afraid to look feminine. That takes courage in a misogynistic nation) that trails to the middle of his back. His cheekbones are sharp and breathtaking, his eyebrows just thick enough to show that he is in fact a man.

I have a feeling people—particularly his younger brother—teased him as a child. Ozai always was the rugged one.

"Zuko! You've gotten bigger!"

"I have!"

As much as I want that baby in my arms again, Zuko has grown. Where once was flesh soft as bread dough, now cords and sinews. His limbs are long and ropy. Hair like Iroh's, it is down to his shoulders and waves freely in the warm breeze. His eyes are bright amber, almost orange. I cannot see my husband physically in him at all. All I see is a little, male version of me.

I notice Zuko has developed a bit of a lisp. I hope it does not stick. As much as I hate the bureaucracy of this kingdom, the future Lord High Master of the Fire Nation should not have a speech impediment. "And I learned a new trick! Look!"

From Iroh's arms, Zuko points, palm outstretched, to a spindle of ivy that grows from the eaves. He pulls his arm back and throws the newly materialized fireball. It hits the plant with a hiss and he giggles shrilly as it shrivels and blackens in the crackling flame. I gait to the plant and wave it out with the sleeves of my kimono.

Iroh smiles. "Very good, Zuko! Only if I were you, I would practice somewhere meant for practicing! I am sure your mother is tired of putting out your fires!"

He glances at me, a knowing smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes. I hate those kinds of people, those who smile and think they know everything about children and how to raise them, who click their tongues when a child screams, staring daggers at the poor soul who has to care. It is a simple thing to think you could be a better guardian when you have had a proper nights sleep! Yet, I cannot hold a grudge against Iroh.

"Thank you, Iroh." I say. The cheeriness of my welcome is artificial, stretched. "What brings you here so early in the day?"

Iroh puts Zuko down. Zuko stands beside me. I squeeze his hand. It is still hot.

"Would you mind if Zuko was off with his nurses?"

The veins of my left arm heat, the pores of my hand starting to steam.

"Yes, I would. Why does he need to go?"

"I'm here to speak of Zuko's education."

Zuko looks up at me. I nod at him, smiling. My blood cools, and I rub the condensed sweat from my hand. "You had me worried for a minute, from the look on your face." I say nonchalantly. "I thought somebody had died."

"Oh, no." says Iroh, smiling. "Only Zuko is five now, and needs to start learning the ways of his people."

My heart thrums against my chest. "Will he receive education from tutors?"

"Yes."

I grab Zuko's hand again. He whimpers. I let out a cry and quickly let go, kneeling down to Zuko and blowing on his hand. I have been told holding hands with me when I am in a bad mood is like grabbing a molten skillet. I look at the burn. It is not bad at all. His palm is pink, true, but that will easily clear in time. I give it another blow, and a kiss, for good measure. "I'm sorry, honey. Go find some cold water and dip your hand in it. It will feel better, I promise."

Zuko looks warily at me and toddles off, holding his own hand and looking as if he has never seen it before. I watch him round a corner, and, once he is gone, I look furiously at Iroh. "Look what you made me do!" I whisper angrily. Iroh looks bewildered.

"I'm sorry, Akito," said Iroh, "I did not know you felt so strongly about Zuko's tutelage!"

"I don't." I tuck my hands in the sleeves of my kimono. "I lost control. Raising a child is so stressful on the ability…"

"I know you don't want to see Zuko leave you." Iroh touches my shoulder. I look at his hand coldly. "Only it is time for him to start growing his wings. You have already held onto him five years longer than is normal! You cannot hold on to him forever."

"Iroh, do you know why I kept Zuko close to me all these years?" I move my shoulder from his grip, and relax my arms to my sides. Iroh does not answer. "Do you know what is happening nowadays? Do you know what the military is doing?"

"I do not see how the military's actions can have an affect on Prince Zuko." Iroh says flatly. "He is five years old."

I snort. I think steam came out of my nostrils. "You do not understand. This very war is a mistake. The Fire Nation has no right to take over other kingdoms! Just because the Avatar disappeared does not make it acceptable to start killing civilians! The Fire Nation tutors will corrupt my child with lies and hatred!" my voice has risen to a shout, "I will not allow this to happen!"

"Do not speak of things you do not understand!" Iroh snaps. I feel like he slapped me. He has never spoken to me that way. He continues. I can feel the heat wafting from his hands like noxious fumes. "The Fire Nation planned this war centuries ago!"

I regain my composure and strike back. "I do not want Zuko to be affected by your nation's sick ideas! You know better than to support the war! Because you wanted to end it is the reason you are not the Fire Lord!"

That hit somewhere sensitive within Iroh. Suddenly, he young again—eighteen years old and afraid of his father. I look into his eyes and see not the strapping young man I met, but a vulnerable little boy, fearful of death and of suffering. Fearful of not his reign, but of the lives the world would lose in order to assure it. "Lady Akito," he speaks again, but his voice shakes. "You know better than I that Lord Ozai is more competent at leading a nation."

"No, he isn't." I stride up to him. We are equal in height. "Why do you call him Lord? Are you that afraid?"

Iroh does not answer. He instead turns and begins to walk away. "You may hire the tutors for Zuko's lessons." He says back to me. "That is all I can promise you."

"Zuko is not your child." I say flatly. Iroh stops. "He likes destruction too much."


	3. Zhao

I sit in a perfumed room. My husband is nowhere to be seen. I fan myself with one hand. My makeup is running with my sweat. Drops of ivory flow down towards my chin, revealing the darkness beneath. My red eye shadow seems to be frightening the couple sitting opposite from me. We sit in uncomfortable silence.

Ozai opens the paper door. I glare at him. He does not bow an apology. He instead sits beside me and puts an arm on my shoulder. I twitch. My hair ornament digs into my scalp. I dare not remove it.

The man is one of the Fire Nation's best captains. He speaks and bows a little in his seat. "May I say what an honor it is, my lord, to have you here."

"Thank you." Says Ozai, a hint of pride in his voice. "Your daughter is a firebender, yes?"

"Oh yes." The captain puts an arm around his wife's shoulder. She is very small and meek looking, with hair the shade of blonde that should have become mousy long ago. Trembling slightly, she reaches for the teakettle and grasps it firmly by the handle. I want to knock the kettle from her hands and we both run away. I pick up my teacup and sip daintily. My lips heat the tea until it boils. "I, as well as my wife Aino, are also fire benders. We have excellent genes."

"Hmm." I suddenly interject. I can feel Ozai's body heat intensify, he is sitting so close to me, but I care not. I put my teacup down. "Your daughter is a very pretty girl."

"Thank you very much, Lady Akito." The wife's voice is as timid as she is.

"You are quite welcome." I shift my gaze from Aino to the captain. I notice his sideburns are particularly ghastly. "But it seems that she has no interest in my son."

"That can be fixed." The captain shifts irritably in his seat. I can tell already that he does not like me much at all. The feeling is mutual. His grip strengthens on his wife's shoulder. She looks as if she will faint any moment. "We can teach our little Minako to find Prince Zuko appealing."

I hate the title of 'Prince'. It only reminds me that Zuko will have to inherit a kingdom fraught with lies and deceit, hated by all. "No, that is not what I mean. She is eight years old. Zuko is eleven. They have no business showing interest in one another. I was foolish in my choice of words. I am sorry."

Ozai lets go of my shoulder. I feel the raw tenderness of sunburn. "Forgive Akito." Says Ozai. "She knows not when to speak."

I feel a hot, sick swoop of rage towards my husband that makes my stomach juices boil and my cheeks rosy. I do not take action. I instead stare intensively at Aino; trying to, telepathically, assure her that she is not going to die. Her face is whiter than my makeup, and her eyes are strangely bloodshot.

"We are done here." My husband stands up. I stand up as well, hands folded. The wife gasps for air as if she was underwater. The man with the awful dundrearies does not notice. "The marriage is henceforth determined." He says. "Thank you for meeting with me, Captain Zhao. I believe a promotion is in order?"

"The honor is mine. Thank you very much, sir." He bows, and looks at me, malice in his eyes. "And to you, Lady Akito."

I feel as though an invisible hand is bending my spine. I suddenly have the urge to spit fire in his face.

The periodic orange glow from the dusky outside tells me that Minako and Zuko are enjoying one another's company. "You are very welcome."

How I hate this nation.


	4. Origins

Air Nomads raised me, and Air Nomads I shall forever call my people.

Orphaned when I was still an infant, a woman found me on the ground, scooped me up in her arms, and continued to run. It was a raid on the Southern Air Temple, the sixth in a series. The captains of the Fire Nation's army had been foolish enough to bring their families with them. Somebody dropped me as the retaliation struck. She cared enough about me to drop my fragile body in weeds before running for her life.

The woman who found me was an Airbender named Xellos. I knew her simply as Mother. We lived at the elusive Eastern Air Temple, which nobody had cared to find. She lived a simple life, living like a monk and giving up all possessions that linked her to the material world—all save for me. I remember feeling her pate after she had just shaved it. She also shaved my head, if I remember correctly. Other children did not tease me too often about it.

I grew up with other Airbenders, and could not quite figure out why I could not control air like my friends. For the first five years of my life, my people trained me in the ways of airbending, the breathing and the movement among other things, unaware of the completely different power that had not yet shown itself. The first time I even remember fire coming from inside of me was when I had a bad cold. I sneezed, and fire came out of my nose, burning my legs. My mother had a firm discussion with the monks, the leaders of the Eastern Air Temple, and they determined that as long as it were never discovered, I could practice my new ability.

Therefore, I became the most unusual sort of bender one can imagine. Using the techniques taught to me by monks, I mastered firebending faster, and more efficiently, than any woman on record. At first, my fire seemed to float away, burning the trees, carried by the back drafts of my airbending counterparts. I soon learned that fire is more matter than air, and therefore handling it took more aggression. One woman whose name escapes me taught me to kick flames and direct them towards a target. Another man showed me the proper way to spread fire everywhere without direct damage to myself. I learned to block fire myself, of course. I would send out the fire and my mother would blow it back to me, I crossing my arms and deflecting.

I was very much an aid in the cooking and cleaning, but other things, like floating, were foreign to me.

I was fifteen when Iroh came. He was eighteen, and very handsome. The first thing he told me was that the Fire Nation was going to attack. I had heard of the Fire Nation, but did not identify myself with them. I was simply an airbender with special abilities.

In the beginning, I was as wary as any other. His demeanor was of an airbender gone astray. He seemed so cool and collected—hardly the hotheaded stereotype I had grown up believing. But once he gathered a flame in his palm, what was supposed to be a threat, I knew. I grabbed his hand, and, marveling on how callused and hot it was, took him straight to the monks. He explained himself and warned the monks to leave. They did not take his warning seriously. He left out the fact that he was the Fire Lord's heir.

Those three days I spent with him, I was instantly entranced.

That was the first time I broke the law. I could not help it.

The Fire Nation's attacks were swift and cunning, too much for the simple monks to handle. Chaos erupted that day, and I remember sending out bursts of flame, and, for the first time, having them sent back to me. A few confused soldiers thought that I was one of them, but what would a small child, dressed in airbender garb with a shaved head, no less, be doing fighting? My friends fell, one by one. The soldiers of the Fire Nation knocked me out and brought me on their ship. I still do not know where Mother Xellos is, or whether she is still alive.

Prince Iroh brought me tea and noodles and stayed in the dungeon for hours on end, talking to me. He said he was sorry for what his nation did. He said that, once he was Fire Lord, he would stop the senseless butchery and once again bring peace to the world. He never got that chance. Backing out at the last minute, Ozai was the new Lord of the Fire Nation. After we were married, he stopped the attacks on Air Temples. But it was too late. There were no Air Nomads left. The Fire Nation wiped them out.

He made me grow my hair to rid me of the blue arrow I tattooed on my head. It is still there, along with the arrows on my hands, feet, and chest. Ozai makes me wear copious amounts of makeup and clothing in order to hide them.

I was his Lady, and his Lady I remain.

I still feel rushes of anger when my husband makes me hide my heritage. It is not good for his reputation, he says, to have married an Airbender. I shaved my head; he makes me wear a wig. I air out my forehead for one minute; he blows sparks at me, yelling to ensure makeup on his wife. Zuko still does not know of my secret lineage. The only time I have been bare faced around him was when he nursed, thirteen years ago.


	5. Adolesence

I am in darkness. Incense and burning flowers are a mist over my thoughts. My consciousness has become a plane of stars, random bursts of color disappearing as quickly as they come. My hands are numb and my legs, placed in full lotus, seem bloodless. Meditation nowadays takes much fuss and hard work.

Memories swirl and meld together until they are indistinguishable. This is a scary feeling, but I must hold onto my sanity. The rushing of wind around my small body blows off my wig, revealing the bright blue arrow beneath. I am losing control. The candles have gone out, leaving me in darkness deeper than hell itself.

"Mother?"

I stiffen as the room lights with a panel of the evening sun. My mind is still elsewhere. It has been in a dark place for the last few hours, and just hearing Zuko's light voice drew me from the mire. I scramble for my wig and mush it on my head before turning around, shielding my eyes. Being in a dark room for that long has severely constricted my pupils. "Zuko, close the door, will you?"

He does, leaving us in darkness again. There is some reddish light emanating from the screened lamp in the corner of the room, but not enough to see the expression on Zuko's face. It does not matter. As soon as he closed that door, I immediately felt the cesspool of anxiety that Zuko carries like a rock on his chest. "Zuko," I say, concern weighing down my usually girlish tone, "What's wrong?"

"I do not want to see father." He is wearing a green robe, his hair pulled back. A small tendril of it hangs in his face. "I…I never want to see father."

"Oh, Zuko." Concern has disappeared, now only foreboding restricts my tongue, "We have been through this." I walk to him, my hands tucked into my sleeves. I surface one from the blue silk and push the tendril from his face, standing on my toes. "I cannot defend you, Zuko. No matter what I say, you have to spend time with your father. Besides, you are fourteen years old! As much as I hate to admit it—" my eyes sweep over my only surviving child. I feel as though I am bidding him goodbye. "—You will have to run things one day. That day is coming ever closer."

"That does not bother me." Zuko holds up his fingers. Flame pops into existence as he brings his hand down, lighting each of the seven candles that still smoke. "I am well ready for my place on the throne." He looks at me, and then stares at his feet, "I am too much of a failure for him. Every time I see him, he brings Mina and Commander Zhao along. " his eyes narrow, "He makes us do target practice. Minako is better than I am. Is he trying to disgrace me in front of her?"

My breath freezes in my throat. "No." I say with great difficulty. My heart is thrumming against my chest. "He is not trying to pit you up against each other. As much as I hate the idea of your future wife coming on visits with your father, it is his business whether he brings her or not." He sits next to me, full lotus. Closing his eyes, I can feel the steam rising off his hands.

"Why does Mina have to come? I will not humor my father's idea of a wife. I don't even like her." Zuko's brow furrows, the four candles in front of him flickering slightly. "I hate the girl."

I smile weakly, my eyes closed as well. "Why are you calling her Mina?"

The flames in front of Zuko suddenly extinguish themselves as though blown by a strong wind. I can feel the heat from his face seething into the air.


	6. Agni Kai

"Akito."

I look up. Aino is standing in the doorway. After that day where we arranged Zuko's marriage, I invited Aino over for tea. She was timid, small, and weak when I first met her. Now she comes almost every day, laughing a strong laugh and tittering on about her daughter. I am glad to see that she no longer wants to die. We giggle about overthrowing our husbands, but we know that it is vainly thought. As she looks at me now, I see fear in her eyes.

"What is it, Aino?" I ask gently. She looks the same way she did when her husband touched her all those years ago. This news cannot bring me tidings of joy.

"Agni Kai."

The words turn my brain to ice. I nod. Agni Kai was created by men, it is for men, and it is a warning to men everywhere in the fire nation. It involves using your God-given ability to harm for honor. When I was a child, I had heard ghastly tales of third-degree burns and scarring, but only the extreme Agni Kai's go that far. Only the extreme Agni Kai's feature in the arena.

As Lady Akito, I have been to many of these events. Lately, I stay underground in the dungeons, visiting the captives and trying to make their lives a little easier. When I did go to the Agni Kai's, I looked down and prayed to whatever god was listening to let the pain end soon.

Before I am aware of it, I am in the evening sun, sitting beside my husband's empty chair. Iroh is below me. He let himself go. Once slim and muscular, he is now a squat zaftig of a man. He conformed to the sideburns and topknot of the Fire Nation—influenced by other generals, I think—and continues to wear them with as much confidence as he did the braid. He stopped visiting Zuko years ago. As much as he misses Zuko, I miss him. Gentler now, he is always a therapeutic shoulder to lean on.

Iroh turns around. The look on his face takes me aback. Grey and solemn, he turns around again. "Lady Akito…I am afraid you will disapprove of this match. More so than all the others."

The chattering crowd blocks out all meaning of those few words. I turn to Aino, who is sitting next to me. She wrings her handkerchief and chews a hair stick. Her eyes are frightened. She looks down at the floor and breathes rapidly. I put a hand on her shoulder. "What is wrong, Aino? You usually enjoy these matches. I send you in my place most of the time."

She looks solemnly at me, eyes shining. "You do not know, then." Her tiara has slipped past her eye. She does not lift a hand to adjust it. "Oh, my poor Akito." She hugs me, shaking. "You will not like this."

"What will I not like?" I am growing irritated. When I am irritated, my palms heat, and sparks fly from my fingers. Luckily, I am wearing leather gloves. I, as much as I hate to admit it, have not mastered control of anger. I can feel my hands stick to the inside of their coverings. "Somebody tell me or I'll start to breathe fire."

The announcer blithers something amplified. I cannot understand it. That fool Ozai is not yet here. I see the two men enter the stadium. My heart stops. Everything is silent, and oddly slowed down. Out on the field, bare-chested and hair put up in a ponytail, is Zuko. Before I can yell at him for getting himself in deeper shit than I can pull him out of, I see the person he is facing.

My tongue has turned into a little dried up plant. It is Ozai. Does he not know that he is Zuko's father? Why is he bare-chested and in a battle stance?

Zuko seems to have just figured this out. He recoils. "Father!" I hear him cry.

I begin to shake. Aino still has me in her arms. Zuko falls down on all fours and bows immensely "I meant no disrespect, father!" Why he disrespected him, I do not know. I fill with rage towards my male scion. I can feel my hair curling. "I am your loyal son!"

Ozai…please do not hurt… 

"You need to learn some respect. And suffering shall be your teacher."

…_My baby. _

Flames erupt from Ozai's hand, right into Zuko's pleading face. Fire sears behind my eyes, blacking me out. Multicolored memories pass through my tortured mind ; changing Zuko's diaper while the nurse's watch, he catching my hair on fire, giggling while I try to put it out. Meditation together, the four candles only slightly wavering on Zuko's side. His first steps. His first word, _"momma. " _Crying when he burned himself, holding out a finger for the placating kiss. Visiting the prisoners with me, pushing meat through the bars.

My little girl, Makoto, toddling away from my arms, in the determined chasing of a butterfly, past the archery ranges. Her little cap, filled with blood.

I feel tears slide down my cheeks. I am rocking back and forth in my seat, Iroh is looking at me, and Aino is hugging me closer. I whimper helplessly. I see the medics take away my unconscious little boy on a stretcher, taking him from my sight. I see my husband clapping his hands together as if he had gotten rid of something nasty. Minako, Zhao's daughter, is smiling ferociously, her tiara shining in the light.

I stand up and leave, tripping over feet, leaving the awestruck population of the Fire Nation wondering why the little Lady is running so fast, fire flowing from her nostrils.


	7. Hell Hath No Fury

The crowd cheers. Iroh, there because he has to be, holds his head in his hands. Zuko is still in the hospital. Aino and Zhao are sitting far apart from one another, stonily faced. The population of the Fire Nation has never seen an Agni Kai such as this. I do not think they have ever seen a woman fight.

I had no time to dress formally for the Agni Kai beforehand. I am in silk pants and slippers. I kick them off, and take off my jerkin. A thin band of cloth is all that separates my chest from the glaring world. Ozai is not fazed.

We bow, and the referee signals.

The fight has begun. I have never been in an Agni Kai before. A wall of fire hurdles towards me. I bend backwards, and it nearly clips my chin. The crowd gasps. My wig has fallen off. The blue arrow glares 'airbender' to the world. My husband is furious.

The heat of the flames is ridiculously easy to dodge, but they keep coming. I do not start to panic until my husband is there in front of me, and I on the ground. He gathers a fireball in his hand, and rears back. I see savage triumph in his eyes. I shall not let him win.

I heave myself backwards and spin in the air, using his heat as a propellant. I stand, my makeup melted off, my hands, feet, and chest all shouting their pride to the Air Nomads. He stumbles. I narrow my eyes and smile. I have the high ground. I volley fireballs as an airbender does gusts of wind, turning and using the air around me to propel my attacks. My husband trips on his own feet trying to dodge a cyclone of fire. He must think I have airbending abilities as well. It does not take much effort to understand currents and using them to your advantage, only creating something out of nothing is truly difficult.

Fool. All that muscle must have tightened his skull.

He is on the ground, and I have my fist at his nose. I could give him what he gave my son, pain beyond pain, one less eye to see. I could ruin his life forever. But as I stand there, panting in sick glory, my mind racing on adrenaline and endorphins, feeling all the rage of all the wives, mothers, grandmothers of the world who have seen their sons, husbands, and grandsons be mutilated—my eyes widen. My chest heaving, I look at the man who may as well have killed my baby.

I am too smart for this barbarism.

I throw my fireball with a cry of disgust, but it lands squarely to the left of Ozai's head. I glare at him, fire in my eyes. "Consider this a mercy, old man."

I turn on my heel and walk away.

I suddenly feel a grabbing, burning sensation on my bare back. That is before the pain. I fall, screaming. The flames sear my flesh and muscle, I trying hopelessly to swat it out. The crowd boos.

After what seems like forever, the pain stops. My back is no longer on fire, but it still feels hot and tender. I lie on the dirt, breathing dust and ash.

He cheated.

Tears in my eyes, I am handled by the medics and I allow it.

That bastard cheated.


	8. Shackles

I awake to the comfortable sound of machinery somewhere in the distance. Water laps against metal all around me. Metal bites into my wrists. Engulfed in red light, I do not panic. I kick behind me, and feel the sharp clang of an iron plate. I wiggle my wrists and chains clank merrily in the darkness. My feet are not on the ground, but three feet above. My shoulders ache and the whole of my midsection feels tender. I look down at myself, and see a large white bandage circling my stomach and back. I am still in my slip.

It takes a few minutes, but it finally sinks in. I am a prisoner. Looking around, tears coming to spite me, I realize that nobody else is captive in the brig. A small mercy.

To think, hours before this, I walked in the garden with Aino.

I close my eyes and bit into my wrist. After my mouth relaxes, I open them again, blurry with tears. I recover from my imprisonment, when I used to be queen of the fire nation, quickly. It is my airbender mentality, I guess. I try not to think of Iroh, Zuko, Aino—but the thought of Ozai…that makes my blood boil. The days when he was gentler, when he was more like Iroh, those are over. He is now a tyrant, nearly killing his own son—and scheduling his own wife for execution.

Violence of shock knocks the air from my lungs. I cannot stop the tears now. I know why there is nobody else in the brig.

The cell is the size of the servants quarters. Where the ship is going, I do not know. Red light spills in from a grille in the door three meters ahead of me. I can see two Fire Nation helmets through the window. From the noise, there are three total.

Scrambling for the chains above my head, I grasp one in each hand and close my eyes, bracing myself for the burning. My palms heat, silent fire beginning to lick the iron of my shackles. My eyes water because of the pain, the stench of burning flesh starting to nauseate me, but the metal is softening. I feel it give way and liquefy as I drop to the floor. I blow on both my hands, making sure the remaining chain does not clink against the wall.

My hands will not sustain permanent damage. That is certain. I wipe my newly blistered hands on my slip and walk towards the door. I stay out of sight, but from the angle where I am, I can see that the bars of my cage are wide enough for me to fit my hands through. Two guards stand side by side in front of it.

I whisper for them to forgive me. I plunge my hands out of the cell and grab both their helmets. Before they can react, I bang them together with a sickening clang. The third guard yells and opens the door, hands alight, but he cannot see me. I am directly above his head, wedged into a corner of the ceiling. My arms and legs are shaking, barely supporting my weight. He starts to walk out, but with a yelp, I pounce on him and bang his helmeted head onto the ground.

When I am sure he is unconscious, I stand, my hands shaking. Adrenaline pumps into my veins, the natural repellant for my fire beginning to pool in my palms. I shake them out and stride over the three unconscious people, filled with too much savage pleasure to feel any trace of guilt.

I run soundlessly along the corridor, past guards and sailors alike, amazed I am still able to lope in such a way. When I lived with my mother, I received an education in academics, combat, and, being the only girl in a long line, dance. I point my toes and pull up in my feet, making my walk silent as a ghost. Being the dancer in my group of friends, I was also able to sneak and slide my way into forbidden areas, the agility and endurance coming in handy. Dance was not a waste of time after all!

I remember teaching my son these tricks—climbing up walls, hiding in corners, in darkness, the passages which nobody knew—when he was twelve. I hope he has not forgotten. These movements relieved me of situations in which the average human being would surely perish.

Running up the stairs and down hallways, I notice that every room I peer into is increasingly personalized. Flags and drawings adorn the walls, some sailors sleep in their bunks. Others write letters to their wives, sweethearts, and families. They talk and laugh, complaining of the food and the new leadership. I slip past these rooms, silent as a mouse. Nobody notices the scantily clad, bald Air Nomad in the midst of the night.

Door after door, room after room confuses me to the point of madness until suddenly I freeze in my tracks. I walk backward and peek my head into the small room. It is a single, with a Fire Nation Flag on the floor. Something has burned it. When I see who lies in the bed, my heart stops.

Zuko's hand rests on the floor, his head facing me. I look around as I slip into his room, closing the door behind me. There is no light. The pores in my palm ignite as I bend next to his bed, stroking his forehead with my other hand. There is no hair to push back, only a small stalk resting on his pillow. In the wavering torchlight I can see beads of sweat form on his head and bare chest. I wipe them away. He tenses for a moment, but relaxes as soon as I shush him soothingly.

I try to hold back tears as I feel the bandage where his left eye should be. Thoughts of Ozai hack at my brain until I cannot take it anymore. My stomach tenses and relaxes, my throat making odd gagging noises. I am choking on the evil of the man who mutilated my baby. Closing my eyes, I wait until the urge to yell and spit fire dies. I bend closer to Zuko's face and rest my lips on his forehead. "I love you." I mumble into the hot skin. My mouth cannot control itself as tears stream down my face. I know what I must do.

I edge my way out of his room and close his door. Before I turn around, someone grabs my shoulders. I whip around, hands aflame, filled with quiet, strangling rage, and look into Iroh's face.

"Iroh!" I whisper startlingly. His eyes and mine fill with tears as I embrace him. He holds me out arms length.

"Akito." He uses my first name. That only makes me cry harder. His voice is shaking with happiness. "Ozai said he ordered your execution! But I knew it wasn't true!" he hugs me again, tears sticky in his sideburns. "Never scare me like that again!"

"Iroh…I am scheduled for execution." The look on his face makes me want to die. "I need to escape. Now."

"I should wake Zuko!" Iroh says calmly. I can feel the bursts of hot air that follow his pounding heartbeat. "He needs to say goodbye to his mother."

"Iroh, no." I touch his arm. He does not react. "It is better if he thinks I am dead. You as well as I know that Zuko cannot keep a secret. If he knows that his mother is not dead, he will not mourn me properly."

He nods. "Zuko tried to lie to me once. I know what you mean." Iroh rubs his temples. The air around us considerably warmer, he speaks again, quiet apprehension in his voice. "But this does not seem right, Akito. If we are caught, you will be executed."

"I am supposed to be executed any hour now." I kiss Iroh's cheek. "Do not tell my Zuko of my intended presence on this ship." I whisper in his ear. "Tell him I drowned. He need not know about his mother's execution."

Iroh nods. I hug him tight.


	9. Usagi

It is mid-spring—one season away from the coming of the second Fire Nation comet. I do not look forward to the apocalypse, but it is better to be in the path of the devil than at his side. I do not miss the queen's treatment, having taken on the responsibilities of a fisherwoman. The one thing I miss about being a queen, however, is the privilege of having hair. The servants washed it, combed it, and styled it to my liking long ago. I find it easier now to rinse my bald scalp than attempt to comb my tangles on my own.

The arrow is still there, but I wear a hat.

One of my old servants—Usagi—has come to stay with me. She said I touched her in such a way that she converted to the Air Nomad's way of life. I greeted her with a strong hug. She would not shave her head, but the feeling is still there. She was not one of my hair servants, but I love her all the same.

Murmurs of the Avatar returning have come and go, but I myself know it is not true. The last Avatar was an Airbender named Aang. He disappeared when he was twelve. There has been no replacement—no son or daughter of the Earth Kingdom who shows traces of powers far beyond what is natural and normal. As far as I know, the world is doomed.

It has been three full years since I escaped from that ship. The escape still haunts my dreams, particularly those of late. I tell Usagi of these dreams, but she has no idea of the pain I had to bear. She is young, about as old as Zuko now, with hair like straw piled into buns on the top of her head, letting the rest of it flow freely in pigtails to her rear. Her eyes are crystal blue, but when she is sad they seem to darken. She, not that traitor Minako, should have loved Zuko. He needs somebody like her now.

I took a lifeboat with me and washed up on the Earth Kingdom's shore, wondering if the Fire Nation noticed. What I dislike most, however, are those dreams of Iroh telling Zuko his mother died. They are the same each time I have them. Zuko, confused at first, calls my name. Iroh is beside him, touching his shoulder. I do not hear his voice, but Zuko's face contorts in such a way there is no doubt Iroh has told him. He bends over and his shoulders shake violently. I hear his cries of "Momma." I am there, but I cannot move.

Those nights have increasingly occurred. I try to ignore them, but guilt chews a hole in my chest. Sometimes I cannot breathe. I remind myself repeatedly that I would not be alive if I had not escaped. Zuko would still feel the same way if the Fire Nation executed me. Perhaps he would try something stupid, like hostile takeover. I shake my head. This is the lesser of two evils.

As I walk to get water from the spring that trickles next to my hut, I notice a little boy, bedecked in blue and brown, walking slowly towards my home, head down. He scratches furiously at his head, the brown hair tousled and messy.

He cannot be more than thirteen years old, but I still feel that this young man wants to stay the night. "Good Morning!" I yell, putting down my bucket and walking out to meet him. As I get closer, I see he smiles at my introduction, but his eyes are sad.

"Hello." His voice is scratchy and worn, as if he had been sobbing minutes before. He rubs his puffy eyes and looks up at me. "Hey, lady, do you think I can stay at your house for a while?"

He is wearing clothes that are too big for him, and clearly not from his ethnicity. He wears the bluish tunic of Waterbenders, complete with the sharp, metal boomerang hanging limply from the baldric slung across his shoulders. Before I answer, I glance at something on his head, hidden by his hair. I realize what it is and I smile. "Of course." I say, patting his shoulder.

He reaches into his pocket—for money, I presume—but I hold both my hands out. "Here." He says. His voice as not yet changed, but I can see the weariness of an old man resting on his face, "Take it. I need to give you something."

"Oh, no." I am still smiling, regardless of his lackluster offer. "All I require of you is that you tell me your name."

"Kuzon." He replies flatly. "My name is Kuzon."

"That's a nice name." I say, stroking his hair. He does not mind. "Very popular in the Fire Nation. Are you from there, child?"

"No." he says, almost defensively. I see his lips are taut across his teeth. "I'm only a traveler. Nothing else."

I murmur something, but he does not hear me. I call for Usagi. She comes out, holding a basket of leeks and onions. "Kuzon? This is Usagi." I say, taking the basket form her. They are roughly the same height, Usagi's dainty chin clipping the top of Kuzon's head.

"Hello, visitor!" Usagi's voice is high and girlish, perfect for someone her age. "Can I get you something to eat? An apple, maybe?" she gestures to the trees that shade my home. Kuzon smiles.

"No thank you. I think I need to sleep, if that's okay." Kuzon rubs his eyes, but something tells me it is not from tiredness. "I've had a long day."

"Alright." I say, my eyes softening.

Usagi takes him inside. Because my house is more of a sheet on sticks,(a far cry from the lavish palaces of my former home), I can see him lay down on my sofa. Usagi takes a furry blanket and lays it over his shoulders. She pets his head, smoothes his hair back. I see her stiffen and clap her hand over her mouth. Kuzon doesn't notice. He was snoring as soon as he lay down.

Usagi lopes up to me, eyes wide and shining. "Lady Akito! That boy is the _Avatar!_" She bounces on the balls of her feet.

I smile weakly. "I know." I say demurely. Usagi sees there is no hope in my eyes. Eyes darkening, she caresses my shoulder with a dainty hand.

"There is still hope." She says, a bit too worldly for my comfort, "As long as it lives."


End file.
